


Becoming Elissa

by NSFL



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSFL/pseuds/NSFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt:</p><p>After In Hushed Whispers, when Alistair shows up to tell the mages to shove off, he realizes that Inquisitor Trev/Lav/Cad strongly resembles his long-lost Warden love (she was killed fighting the archdemon or refused to be his mistress). In order to let her take the mages to Haven, he orders her to pay for them by spending the night with him. He is fully aware that she's unwilling, and just doesn't care.</p><p>Preferred:<br/>* Leliana tells her to go along with it for the good of the Inquisition<br/>* Alistair kissing her tears while he fucks her<br/>* "Good girl"<br/>* Warden stamina<br/>* She does end up orgasming at some point<br/>* default Inquisitor name; default Warden name (of whichever species/background you pick)</p><p>Only if you want to:<br/>* Alistair ordering that every time the Inquisition needs to cross Ferelden territory, Inky has to pay the toll<br/>* If you want to go for suuuuuper fucked-up, Alistair eventually decides that he's in a sick kind of love with her and wants to make her queen/ she's developed Stockholm syndrome and thinks she's in love too</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming Elissa

Alexius sank to his knees, defeated. Evelyn sighed. Finally, back home, back in her own time. Back in time to prevent everything they had just seen.

"Well!" Dorian said brightly as Evelyn stepped behind Alexius to secure his hands, "I'm glad that's over with."

The sound of steel boots on stone echoed in the room. A phalanx of guards, head to toe in plate armor, helmets bearing the red royal crest of Ferelden, marched into the room.

"Or not," Dorian concluded as they came to a precise halt, flanking the entry to the hall.

Behind them, now that the area was secured, entered Alistair Theirin, Grey Warden, survivor of the Fifth Blight, and King of Ferelden.

"Grand Enchanter," he said into the sudden silence. "Imagine how surprised I was to learn you'd given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter magister."

"King Alistair!" Fiona hurried forward, her head bowed.

"Especially since I'm fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan."

"Your Majesty, we never intended…"

"I know what you intended." He softened, gentle and sadder for a moment. "I wanted to help you. But you've made that impossible." Then he shook his head, dismissing that in favor of stern resolve. "You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden."

"But…we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?"

"I should point out," Evelyn noted, stepping forward, "that we did come here for mages to close the breach."

"Maker's Breath…" the King said softly.

All eyes turned back to him, but he was staring only at Evelyn.

He took a step toward her, then another.

Confused, Evelyn looked for help, but Cassandra and Blackwall both had their heads bowed in respect.

"You… Who are you?"

"King Alistair, allow me to present Evelyn Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, Herald of Andraste. I am Dorian Pavus… and you have no interest in me whatsoever," Dorian concluded as Alistair closed the distance between himself and Evelyn.

"Elissa," he murmured.

"Evelyn, Your Majesty," she said.

He frowned as she spoke. "Your accent is different, but by the Maker, you could be her twin." Slowly his hand lifted and he touched her cheek, brushed under one eye. "Except for these. Her eyes were harder by the end. We had seen so much death, so many betrayals. Until she looked at me. Then she would smile again."

"Uh… help?" she muttered out of one corner of her mouth.

"Your Majesty, perhaps we could discuss the matter of the mages," Cassandra said carefully.

But Alistair did not look away from Evelyn. "Mages. Yes. By all means, let's discuss the mages."

Abruptly, he turned and strode toward a door in the side of the hall. "Come with me, Herald," he said. As he passed his guard, he said, "No one leaves, not until I return."

"And if someone tries?"

"Pin them to a wall." He paused. "Um, by their clothes, not by their stomachs or anything. Teagan would have a fit."

"Very good, Your Majesty."

Across the hall, swords sang out of sheaths, sharp and deadly.

With a last glance at Cassandra and Blackwall, the latter of whom just shrugged, Evelyn followed Alistair through Redcliffe Castle, two guards trailing hastily behind.

"You do know your way around," she ventured as he led her up a stone staircase.

"I grew up here," he said, short and clipped.

Whatever he wanted, it wasn't to talk. Evelyn kept quiet as he led her into a richly appointed bedchamber.

Only then did he turn to look at her again. The tight line of his jaw softened, his sandy-gold brows drawing down.

"Andraste. Every time I look at you, you take my breath," he said. 

"About the mages…"

"In a moment." He walked behind her. She almost turned to follow him, but stopped when his hands caught the small ponytail she'd tied her hair in. He yanked the tie out, combed his fingers through her hair, then turned her again.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Just like that. Her hair, her eyes. Her lips."

Uneasy, Evelyn took a step back toward the door. "Perhaps we should rejoin the others."

"You want the mages," he said.

"I need the mages," she said, watching him warily. "The world does. If the Breach remains open, all of Thedas will be awash in demons."

"You need them," he mused. "All the better. Very well, then. Here's what I need: You."

"Me, Your Majesty?"

"You. In bed with me. You want the mages? I want you. A fair exchange, I think."

Fury brought color to her cheeks, made the mark on her clenched left hand flare and spin throwing emerald spines of light through her fingers. "And if I decline?"

"Deny me, and I deny the mages passage through Ferelden." He paused, eyes narrowing either at her or at the light or both. "And your precious Inquisition. You'll be turned back at every border through my land, I'll denounce the lot of you. Publically. Personally. Even Celene won't be able to ignore that; she won't want to start another war with Ferelden. The question is, will you?"

Evelyn gaped at him. "You're mad," she said.

"Perhaps." He shrugged. "But that doesn't change my offer. Sleep with me, here and now, and you will have your mages."

"And Ferelden's borders?"

"Open to you." He paused. "One night with you for each time your army crosses into my country."

"I am no whore!"

"No!" He cut that off with a slash of his hand. "You are a leader. What will you sacrifice for your people, Herald? Would you rather they die because you are too proud to bed a king?"

"And are you so twisted, so ill-favored, so sick that this is the only way you can get a woman to bed you?" she shot back.

"For her!" He softened again, eyes searching her face but not seeing her, not seeing Evelyn. "For you, I would do anything, become anything. Elissa…"

She took a step back. "You're mad," she repeated, voice shaking.

He blinked, reorienting himself in the here and now. "I am also king. Acquiesce. Or fight two wars."

Evelyn shook and Evelyn trembled, but Evelyn stayed.

His hand stroked her face, hesitantly slid back across her jaw to cup the back of her neck. His lips touched hers, brushed hers.

Her stomach lurched. She clenched her fists but thought of war and was still.

Carefully, the tip of his tongue parted her lips. "Kiss me," he whispered.

Evelyn closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, drawing his scent deep into her lungs. He was a king; he smelled clean and faintly of the herbs used in his bath. It seemed wrong. He should reek with what he intended for her. Deliberately, she opened her lips to him, used her mouth at his command to return his kiss.

He groaned softly, his other hand sliding around her waist to pull her against him. "Yes," he whispered, kissing her again. "Maker, you even feel like her against me."

"I'm not her," she said in response, her voice shaking as badly as the rest of her.

"Shh," he said. "Don't talk."

His fingers plucked at the buckles and straps that held her leather armor on.

Instantly, she sprang backwards. "No, stop! I can't do this, I can't."

His jaw tightened, his eyes went flint-dark. "Guards!" he snapped.

The door opened instantly.

"See the Herald back to her Inquisition," he said, "and arrange for an escort to remove them from Ferelden. The mages—"

"Wait!" Evelyn said, stepping forward to clasp a hand around his elbow.

Alistair hesitated, looked back at her.

"All right," she said, looking from him to the guards and back. "All right," she repeated, with more emphasis.

"You agree to my terms?"

"Yes."

Still he didn't send the guard away. "All of them?"

"It seems I have little choice."

"Elissa rarely had any, either. She did what she had to do, at every opportunity. She won a war that way, you know." With a nod of his head, he sent the guard out again.

Then he sat on the bed and pulled his boots off, tossing them aside. He shrugged out of the ermine-trimmed leather shoulder harness and dropped it on his boots. Only then did he turn and look at her, still standing where he'd left her.

His expression gentled. "Come here," he said.

Stiff and awkward, she moved to him.

"Sit," he said, patting the bed.

She did, making a soft sound of disgust, but refused to look at him.

His fingers slid through her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. "It won't be so bad, you know. Shall I prove how well I know your body?"

He leaned in, his lips first touching then caressing the pulse at her neck.

It made her shiver, catch her breath.

"There," he murmured, nuzzling her ear. He rested one hand behind her on the bed, slid the other one across her waist. "I'll wager I know your body better than you do."

This time when he unfastened the buckles at her waist that held her armor tight, she didn't object. Nor did she aid him. She did her best to ignore him entirely.

Until his teeth dragged where his lips had been, drawing another involuntary tremor from her.

He tugged at her armor, slid it over her head and off the side closest to him before tossing it down with his. "You even dress like she did," he said, untucking her fine white linen shirt from her leather breeches. "Twin daggers, like she had. How can I not think that you are her, come back to me at last?"

"She's dead," Evelyn said harshly.

He wrapped a hand around her throat, shoved her down to the bed and swung a leg over her, pinning her to the mattress. "I know," he said, anger and pain radiating from every tense inch of him. "I know that better than you can imagine. She left me behind, left me there while she went off to die."

Then she could see it, the madness of a king, the cracked and crazed patchwork that his heart had become. It was in the gleam of his eyes, the set of his lips that softened even as she watched. "Don't talk," he said again, his grip on her throat easing. "I told you. Don't talk. You don't sound like her."

He sat back and looked down at her, rebuilding his fantasy in his head no doubt. Slowly he drew her shirt up, exposing her bare skin an inch at a time. He stopped just short of revealing her breasts, leaned into her to kiss her deep and slow.

Evelyn felt the heat of his skin even through the heavy cambric shirt he wore, felt the pressure of his chest against the softness of her breasts. Fabric shifted across her nipples, teasing them. His hands curled around her bare waist, trailing up with lazy care, higher, fingers touching the bottom curve of her breasts.

His weight shifted. For a moment, just as his thumbs grazed over her nipples, she pressed her shoulders deeper into the mattress. Forgetting. Just for a moment.

Maker, he was right. He did know her body.

She could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek, deeper and more ragged. He caught her nipples between thumb and forefinger, stroking them with gentle pressure. Evelyn fought against the spike of pleasure, horrified at herself, at her body's willingness to respond to his touch.

"Yes," he murmured, parting from her enough to pull her shirt off entirely, sitting back to remove his own shirt.

King he might be, but sedentary he was not. He was a king come to his throne in war, and he had not let his training stop in the intervening years. His chest was broad and deep, heavy muscle sprinkled with a fine coating of golden hair that narrowed to a trail disappearing into the waistband of the leather pants he still wore.

His hands caught her wrists, lifted them, placed her palms on his chest.

Instinctively, she curled her fingers in the crinkly hairs, felt the heat, the fine mist of sweat. Felt the rapid beat of his pulse, the expansion of muscle as he drew in a long inhale. "Blessed Andraste, you even touch me like she did," he said before leaning back down to kiss her again, harder this time. More demanding.

Again, still, she tried not to respond to him. Kiss him, yes, because it was his price. Let him know her blood was heating, that her pulse was finding its rhythm in his? Never.

His knees spread her thighs, and he settled himself between her legs. Skin to skin, her chest against his, the feel of his bare flesh heated her nerve endings. She turned her head from him, struggling for control. She could not, would not, give him this!

"Shh," he said, kissing her jawline, her neck, that so-sensitive spot that no other lover had bothered to find. 

His left hand slid across her thigh, slipped between their bodies. His own passion was evident, the hard bulge of him pressed tight against her. His fingers unfastened the belt that held her pants closed, tugged and wriggled inside and down.

He touched the slick heat between her thighs and groaned again, dropping his head to her shoulder. "Elissa…"

"I'm not—"

His right hand clamped down over her lips, muffling the rest of her sentence. He lowered his head farther still, captured one nipple in his mouth. His lips held it while his tongue flicked over it lightly, over and over. A muffled moan of pleasure slipped out from between her unwilling lips.

Mortified, Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut tight, tears spilling out, trailing down to his hands.

His fingers explored the heat, the searing silken wetness of her. He found her clit, circled it with his thumb. Her hips bucked and twitched under him.

"There," he whispered, his breath hot against the wetness of her nipple. "Ah, Maker. Shh…"

Awkward though the position was, he slid a finger inside her. Involuntarily, she clenched around him once, twice. The dance of his thumb over her clit didn't stop, spikes of pleasure spearing through her, each one a betrayal she could not control any more than she could stop the tears from falling.

His hand shook now, leaving her as he curled his fingers in the waistband of her pants, pulled and shoved them down. He didn't bother with her boots, didn't bother to remove her pants, just pushed them down with hands, then feet, to her ankles. His own pants, he was no gentler with, squirming out of them and kicking them off the bed.

When his hand left her mouth, Evelyn drew in a sobbing breath, but didn't speak. She couldn't. Anything she wanted to say would be made into a lie by the heat of her body. It wanted, but she did not. It responded, when she only wanted to crawl away.

Her hips lifted as the tip of his cock nudged against her, as he rocked his hips slowly, pushing into her. When the head of his cock slipped inside her, he stopped. His hand returned to her breast, gently rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger again, motions that were timed with the steady thrusts of his hips, burying him deeper inside her a fraction of an inch at a time. He nuzzled her ear, nipped the curve of it, and was driving her steadily insane with pleasure.

Her hips rose to meet him, her ankles twined behind the small of his back.

"Good girl," he whispered, kissing her tears away. "That's my girl. I know."

Faster and harder he drove into her, flesh slapping against flesh. He took his hand from her breast, laced his fingers above her head as he rode her. 

She came first, a fiery burst of sheer pleasure. Her feet dropped to the bed, shoved her hips higher as she cried out. He buried himself deeper into her with a grunt, held himself there while she clenched around him, then drew slowly out, stroking the length of himself against her tight silkiness.

When she collapsed, panting, he resumed his strokes, long and slow. His chuckle at her expression was full of sensual heat. "Poor my dear," he said. "Forgot I was a Grey Warden, did you? Stamina has its uses, love."

Still deep inside her, he turned her on her side as he dropped to the bed behind her.

"No," she whispered. "Please no."

He buried his nose against her neck and nipped. "Yes," he breathed. He dropped his right hand back to her clit, teasing and tormenting her as he resumed the movement of his hips, riding her fast and short, small strokes that kept him in her.

It took so little for him to tip her over the edge again, to make her call out, shake and tremble as she came. Her flesh was still hot and sensitive, twitching under his fingers, around his cock. She could hear his low growl against her ear. His teeth sank into the curve of her neck, and his lips drew on the skin, marking her as his.

The rush of climax was followed by another, smaller surges no less potent in their ability to drive her to senselessness, to wordless cries. How long he kept her there, dancing on the edge of orgasm only to push her over again and again, she could not say. She only knew when the sound of his breathing escalated, when his own shout of pleasure matched hers, mingled with hers as he came in her. His left hand, snaked underneath her and wrapped around her breast, clenched tight, almost painful.

But then she ached from head to toe, muscle convulsions wracking her again and again until finally, blessedly, he stopped touching her and let her fall into darkness.

 

It was Cassandra who woke her. She hadn't even roused when Alistair had left; it took the Seeker shaking her to pull her from her deep slumber.  
"You must wake," the Seeker said, stiff discomfort in her Orlesian accent. "The King has gone, but said we were not to disturb you. It has been an hour now."

"An hour?" Evelyn repeated blindly, trying to shake off the last of her languor.

"Yes."

An hour. She forced herself to sit up, felt the ache of her stomach muscles. "Did he… Did he say anything?"

Cassandra stepped back and turned away. "Only that the mages were free to leave with the Inquisition."

Cheeks flaming red, Evelyn scrounged around for her clothes. She could only imagine what the Seeker must think of her, what everyone in the hall must think of her. But they'd only be correct, wouldn't they? She'd whored herself out for the mages.

She had done what she needed to do to win a war, to close the Breach.

To hell with them. Would Cassandra have done differently? Probably. She'd have killed Alistair and started another war.

Stomping her feet into her boots, Evelyn said calmly, "Thank you, Seeker. We can go now. Has the Grand Enchanter gone to gather the mages?"

Cautiously, Cassandra peeked over her shoulder, then turned. "She has. I have given them directions to Haven, and they will begin the journey when they have gathered their things."

"Excellent. Send a message to Leliana so she knows to begin preparations to close the Breach. When they arrive, we will see it done."

Cassandra stared at her, searching her expression. Evelyn met her gaze steadily, stonily, daring her to say anything.

The seeker inclined her head. "As you will, Herald," she said.

When she left, Evelyn sank back to the bed, knees shaking.

The room reeked of sex, that low musky scent that had only one source. There would be more than one set of judgemental eyes to face when she left the bedchamber. There would be gossip galore from servants and guards alike.

Maker, she hoped she could hold it together.

Andraste, she hoped she never had to return to Ferelden.


End file.
